There was a curious softness in Dan’s blue eyes as they rested on her.
“No. I think you’re—a very good friend,” he said. “But I don’t see why you should have the monopoly! Let me show I know how to be a good pal, too, if I want to.”
“No—no.” Gillian still protested, but her tone betrayed signs of weakening.
“We’ll be as conventional as you like,” urged Dan, twinkling. “I’d stop at different hotels.”
“Well, but—”
“Say ‘yes’!” he insisted.
Gillian smiled.
“You obstinate person! Yes, then!”
“Thank you. Then I’ll go along and buy a ticket.”
He turned and went towards the booking-office, while Gillian, inwardly much relieved, awaited his return. She could not but acknowledge that in the “wild-goose chase” upon which she was embarking it would be an enormous comfort to have Storran at hand in case of an emergency. As to the proprieties—well, Gillian was far too honest and independent a soul to worry about them in the circumstances. Her friend’s happiness was at stake. And whether people chose to talk because she and Dan Storran travelled to Paris together—or to Timbuctoo, for the matter of that, if Michael had chanced to depart thither—troubled her not at all.